


Eight

by breatherofwords



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Arguing, Crying, Drug Addiction, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Overdosing, Overuse of the number eight, Post-Canon, Prescription Drugs, minor miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatherofwords/pseuds/breatherofwords
Summary: “Don’t be,” Viktor interrupted then went to soothing not only Yuuri but himself. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to be fine.”Viktor didn’t know how wrong he was.Or: A simple slip on ice leads to a rift in Yuuri and Viktor's relationship with the help of prescription drugs.





	1. It's Just Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [momentoftruth7](http://archiveofourown.org/users/momentoftruth7) for helping with the title. Chapter title is taken from [Medicine by Daughter](https://youtu.be/sf6mkYz4mx0).
> 
> Thanks to ao3 for being a pain in my ass and not posting the summary. I hope you burn in hell, but I'll be there with you.

Eight minutes. That was how long Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov was sprawled on the ground. You would probably laugh at how a world class skater fell on the ice on his way to his apartment, but if you saw how his form was sprawled on the hard icy ground, you wouldn’t have laughed. Wouldn’t have laughed at how his blood mixed with the ice and snow. Wouldn’t have laughed at the way his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle.

 

Eight minutes until a stranger found him and called 911. Sirens wailed, flashing the red and white lights that cast new long shadows into the buildings nearby. The paramedics loaded him into the ambulance without knowing that he was a skating legend. Without knowing that his husband, Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri was a skating legend too. 

 

The very same skating legend that was now calling Viktor’s shattered phone which was being pulled out of his elegant charcoal gray coat pocket by a paramedic. The paramedic pressed the answer button to the name known as  _ Husband ;) _ . 

 

“Hello darling, I was wondering if you were close to home. Diner is getting cold.” It was teasing as if Viktor simply forgot to come home. 

 

“Hello, sir, I am a paramedic. We have found your husband?” the paramedic was unsure if that was the right word. “Husband,” the paramedic confirmed with more confidence. “He is unconscious, and we are taking him to the hospital. It appears that he slipped on some ice, but he will be fine.” On the other end of the phone, there was a sharp intake of breath. 

 

“Where is he? Where is my husband?” Yuuri asked with the sort of detached calm that made you think that he wasn’t understanding the words, not because he was stupid, but because he was in shock. 

 

“We are taking him to the hospital. He is in the ambulance with us now. May we ask for a name-”

 

“My name is Katsuki-Nikiforov Yuuri,” Yuuri interrupted with a slight panic. “My husband is Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov.” 

 

“Thank you, sir. You can meet him at the hospital.” And Yuuri hung up the phone in the middle of the paramedic’s sentence. 

 

* * *

 

 

Eight hours later, and Viktor was fine. Fine after enduring a surgery to fix his ankle. He may never skate again after slipping on ice, the doctor had explained. 

 

But he was alive. More or less. 

 

Viktor was fine. Yuuri was fine. They were all fine. More or less. 

 

Yuuuri had waited for eight hours before he could see Viktor, shifting his feet impatiently, weaving his fingers together impatiently. It was hard to be patient when you didn’t know if your husband was going to die. 

 

Yuuri would prefer to stay in this half-state of knowing rather than facing the fact that his husband may be dying, may be having himself reconstructed but not with gold, may be fighting alone. 

 

But he didn’t have to stay in that half-state of knowing. The doctor came out and led him to the room. He didn’t want to go in that room. His thoughts bubbled back into his anxiety.  _ What if Viktor… What if Viktor… What if Viktor…  _

 

His throat tightened as if his entire being didn’t want him to enter that room. Yuuri went in anyway. He did not collapse from the weight of seeing Viktor laying there. Did not collapse from the weight of seeing Viktor in white instead of his sophisticated grays. Did not collapse from the weight of seeing Viktor with black stitches that stood stark against the skin.

 

He did not collapse. Viktor opened his eyes. They were still their icy blue and it was still Viktor, beaten but not defeated, not broken. Not yet at least. 

 

“He is on some strong pain medication, so he might be a bit out of it,” the doctor spoke, but Yuuri had forgotten she was in the room with them. Because all he could focus on was _Viktor._ _Viktor_ with his broken, yet still beautiful body. _Viktor_ with his silver hair. _Viktor who was alive._

 

“Ok,” Yuuri said disconnected and dismissively to the doctor. She thankfully took the hint. 

 

“I’ll leave you two at it. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to talk to you about the next step.” But Yuuri didn’t care about the next step. Because…  _ because Viktor.  _ Yuuri looked up and down every part of him while coming closer to stand by the hospital bed.

 

Viktor, who had closed his eyes again, started to laugh. “Is there something wrong?”

 

“Your foot,” Yuuri choked out, mostly in disbelief. Viktor needed his but it was broken. Wrapped in white bandages with deep gashes, and bits of bone, tied together with tiny neat black stitches underneath. 

 

“What about my foot, Yuuri darling?” Yuuri could hear that he was tired but still teasing. Viktor’s voice was rough, like unfinished wood, rough but still beautiful. 

 

“It’s broken. You may never skate again,” Yuuri admitted, with his voice breaking with tears filling up his eyes. 

 

“Shhh, darling, don’t worry about me,” Viktor coaxed.  _ How could he still be so considerate and kind and caring when he had almost died? _

 

“It’s my job,” Yuuri cried, tears and snot running down his face. Yuuri wasn’t a pretty cryer, now or ever. “I didn’t know what to think when that paramedic picked up instead. I just wanted to ask when you were coming home. There was a moment when I thought you could be dead.”

 

“Oh baby,” Viktor whispered sympathetically. He had never wanted to hurt Yuuri and he never would. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

 

“I’m sorry-” Yuuri tried to brush his tears away, but more came out.  

 

“Don’t be,” Viktor interrupted then went to soothing not only Yuuri but himself. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to be fine.” 

 

Viktor didn’t know how wrong he was. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

It was something that threatened to break his bones. Viktor wanted. He wanted so bad to stop feeling the pain he was feeling. But it wasn’t pain…

 

It was shame. Shame that he was injured from a simple thing that ordinary people get injured from. 

 

He already had the pills to take. He already had the sword that would stab him through the heart. So he took a deep breath that may be the final breath before the fatal wound. And it was. 

 

He put three on his tongue when he was supposed to take one. He rolled them across his tongue. Then he decided, grabbing the crystal glass of water and poured every last drip down his throat along with the pills.

 

It felt like nothing. 

 

It was nothing. 

 

It was not nothing. It was weakening of bones that would break. Not now. But soon. It was the starting winds of a hurricane that would destroy houses and hearts. 

 

But it was just a pill. Plus two.

 

* * *

 

 

“What I don’t understand is how you, a world class figure skating legend, managed to slip on ice,” Yuuri teased, as Viktor laid on the couch, bundled under too many blankets that somehow made Yuuri think that he was healing. Yuuri didn’t know he was starting to crack himself apart.  

 

“Stop teasing me,” Viktor whined, but he did not care right now. He cared about Yuuri not finding out his mistake. He was ashamed at how good it felt. How good it felt to lose himself in pills. How good it felt to forget the expectations people had on it. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m glad that you’re okay. Does it hurt?” The teasing was gone replaced with concern. It would be so much easier to let the facade of keeping it together slip away if Yuuri wasn’t concerned with him. If Yuuri was not the first one that he chose to love in twenty years.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Viktor said but he looked down.  _ It’s bad lying to you. _

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Yuuri said with mock seriousness, looking at Viktor from over the top of his glasses.  _ I am lying to you, Yuuri, but I don’t want to. _

 

“It hurts,” Viktor admitted slowly, quietly.  _ It hurts lying to you. _

 

“Do you want another painkiller?” _ Yes.  _

 

“Yeah,” Viktor looked away and admitted softly as if he didn’t want another one. Didn’t want to drown in the ocean he had cast himself into. 

 

“When’s the last time you had one?”  _ Yuuri, please don't ask that.  _

 

“I don’t know.” He knew very well when the last one he had was, about eight minutes before this conversation. 

 

“I’m sure it will be fine. Let me get you one and a glass of water so you can swallow it easier.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

_ It is just a bad habit.  _

 

It was more than a bad habit. It was a symphony of self-destruction; these were the opening notes that would build and break until there was nothing left.

 

_ It is just one pill.  _

 

It was more than a single pill. It was a start with no end in sight. It was a prison sentence without a key. 

 

_ It is just one time. _

 

It was more than a single time. It was a lie. A lie that was starting to burn him alive from within. 

 

_ It is just…  _

 

It was just this or it was just that. Thousands of excuses saturated Viktor’s bones. All of them drowning out what Yuuri would think, or what his fans would think, or what he himself would think. 

 

So Viktor didn’t think. He didn’t want to feel anymore. So he didn’t and let himself get swept away in a wave of numbing pleasure that would hide the side effect of living: pain.

 

* * *

 

 

There were far too many pills in their medicine cabinet to be safe. Too many pills of too many colors and size that were hidden in orange bottles which were neatly stacked. Too many pills for the doctor trips Viktor had been going too. Yuuri wanted to ask. He knew he should ask. 

 

_ Why? When? What? Why? Why? Why? _

 

And so Yuuri asked from a different room. He asked from the bathroom doorway to Viktor who was sprawled out,  unbeknownst  to Yuuri getting off his latest high. His arm covered his eyes as if the sunlight was too bright. There was barely any sunlight shining through their closed curtains.  

 

“Viktor, why do you have so many pills in the medicine cabinet?” Even though Yuuri asked with such gentleness and concern, Viktor still wanted to bolt. Wanted to avoid this conversation most of all. He didn’t respond.

 

“Viktor? Did you hear me?” Yuuri walked from the bathroom towards Viktor. “Viktor?”

 

“I- well you see- I-” Viktor stumbled over his words. None would be the right words. 

 

“Viktor darling, what's going on?” Yuuri felt like he knew the answer already. He stood at the foot of the couch. 

 

“Nothing is going on, Yuuri. There isn't a problem here. I'm fine.” Viktor moved his arm away from his face. His eyes were still closed. 

 

“Why are you lying to me?” Viktor's icy blue eyes snapped open. 

 

“What did you say? I'm not lying to you. Nothing is going on.” Viktor repeated slowly as if Yuuri was just confused about the pills. As if this was all some big misunderstanding. 

 

“Then why do you have so many pills?” Yuuri asked in disbelief of the pills and the fact that Viktor was lying to him. 

 

“It's not that big of a deal,” Viktor tried to brush off the issue and the conversation again. 

 

“Do you have an addiction?” Yuuri pressed on putting it bluntly. It was not an accusation though, just a question out of curiosity and love. Viktor bolted to a sitting position on the couch. 

 

“God no. I'm not taking enough for it to be a-” Viktor stopped in the middle of the sentence realizing his mistake. “Shit- forget I said that.”

 

“You're what?” Yuuri asked as if he hoped he had heard right. “You're still taking strong medicine that isn't even yours, and you're asking me to just forget about it? It doesn't matter how much you're taking; you're still taking it.”

 

“Don't put it like that,” Viktor snapped. “It's not an issue.”

 

“It's not an issue? How long before one tiny pill becomes two and then becomes enough to kill you?”

 

“I'm not going to let it get to that point.” There was a strong undercurrent of annoyance in Viktor's words. 

 

“How do you know that Viktor? How? I don't want to watch you slowly poison yourself to death.” There was a strong undercurrent of desperation and fear in Yuuri's words. Viktor opened his mouth then closed it. He finally mustered the words he wanted to say. 

 

“I'm sorry that  _ you _ think this is a problem,” Viktor said placing the blame on Yuuri. 

 

“Excuse me? Well, I'm sorry for wanting to keep my husband alive.” Even saints can lose patience. Yuuri's desperation and fear were replaced with anger and sarcasm. “You're doing something that may kill you, and I'm sorry for wanting to know if I can help you.”

 

“It's not going to kill me.” Viktor tried to deflect it again. 

 

“How long has this even been going on then?” Yuuri asked bluntly. Yuuri was not getting answers to his previous questions; perhaps it would be best to ask it directly. Viktor’s grimace was more of an answer than any of his previous questions. “How long?” Yuuri repeated. 

 

Viktor looked down before answering; he was done deflecting the fact that he should answer. “Since the injury,” he admitted shyly. 

 

“This has been going on since the injury? It’s been  _ eight months _ since your injury. Where have you been getting all these pills?”

 

“Just let me explain-”

 

“Then be my guest and explain,” Yuuri interrupted. 

 

“I- I- it started with the pills the doctors prescribed. I took too many to begin with, and it spiraled out of control,” Viktor admitted with a sense of shame. “I ran out and got more. That's all there is to it.”

 

“All there is to it? Where did you get the drugs?” Yuuri asked bluntly again. Maybe that would be the best way to get an answer. 

 

“I stole them, bought them,” Viktor admitted but then quickly added, “it doesn't matter because it's not a problem.”

 

“Here we go again,” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Why? Why did you start?”

 

“The injury-” Viktor started. 

 

“That's not an answer, Viktor,” Yuuri interrupted again, “and you know that.”

 

“It started because I didn't want to run the risk of feeling the pain. It became a habit and now it's the only way I feel,” Viktor scrambled for the right word, “feel good.”

 

“Does it feel good to poison yourself slowly?” Yuuri whispered horrified as if this was seeing the swell of all of their demons for the first time. Seeing the problem and how it had mangled itself to be where it was now. But instead of letting Viktor answer, Yuuri ran off to the bathroom. 

 

And when Viktor made the connection to what Yuuri was doing it, seconds after he started for the bathroom. 

 

“Yuuri-” Viktor warned. “Don’t touch those,” there was such a breathless fury in his warning when he saw Yuuri’s beautiful hand wrapped around an artificial orange bottle. Saw his other hand with slender finger twist around the sterile white lid and twist it off. 

 

“Whatever the fuck you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Viktor tried again, but his voice broke with a sob that should've broken Yuuri.

 

But it didn’t. 

 

Instead, that pitiful sob caused Yuuri to look at Viktor with merciless unfeeling eyes, eyes that a murder would look upon his victim with. Caused him to keep his eyes meeting Viktor’s as he tipped the bottle. 

 

Pills fell down into the toilet. 

 

Down.

 

Down. 

 

And finally, splashes that signaled that the deed was almost done. Splashes that signaled Viktor to realize what was truly happening. Viktor grabbed the hand with the bottle, but it was empty. Yuuri pushed Viktor off of him. 

 

And the shock that Yuuri could have done that, done that to him, pushed him to the floor when he could have stayed standing. But before he could register what had truly happened, how Yuuri had pushed him aside with far too much ease for husbands, Yuuri had already grabbed for another bottle, twisting off the lid, and dumping the pills down the drain.

 

The splash was the only sound besides ragged breathing. 

 

Viktor stood up from the ground, grabbing at the third bottle that was now in Yuuri’s hands. The previous bottles lay littered on the ground.

 

Yuuri pushed him away, dumping the third down. 

 

_ 800 dollars down the drain. _

 

“Yuuri stop-” Viktor sobbed. “Please don’t do this to me.”

 

“It’s for your own good Viktor,” Yuuri responded coldly, but you could hear that there was a bit of panic in his voice, a slight crack in his voice much smaller than the crack in their relationship.

 

But Viktor didn’t care if it was for his own good. Was it for his own good if he was begging for it not to happen? For his own good if he was attempting once again to pull another bottle of pills from Yuuri’s hands?

 

This attempt was more successful. The bottle fell to the ground, the pills landing haphazardly across their bathroom. Viktor dove for their bottle.  _ If he could just get one bottle, he could be fine. One bottle. One… _

 

Yuuri saw what he was doing and kicked them away, but Viktor had managed to put several pills. “Spit them out,” Yuuri requested, only it was not a request, it was an order. 

 

Viktor shook his head, tears running down his cheeks. 

 

“I said spit them out,” Yuuri almost shouted with anger that would break into tears at any moment. 

 

Viktor once again shook his head. 

 

“God dammit, Viktor, please spit them out,” it was gentler, this time a plea. Yuuri knew that those pills were rolling on his tongue. Yuuri knew that he could get them out, so he joined him on the floor, grasping both of his wrists, and kissed him. 

 

Viktor was so caught off guard that he didn’t know what to do, and his lips slightly parted which was enough for Yuuri to slip his tongue in, to try to get the pills out. When Viktor realized what was happening, he pushed back, kicking and flailing to try to keep the small amount of pills that he had won.

 

It killed Yuuri to see him flailing against him. Normally he would’ve stopped, but normally none of this wouldn’t have been happening. He did not stop, and since Yuuri had a talented tongue, he got three pills into his own mouth. He spat those into the toilet. 

 

Tears were running down Viktor’s face. Too shocked that his husband had done that to him. Too shocked that he had gotten to the point where this whole thing started in the first place.

 

More pills were dropped down into that porcelain bowl whose contents were starting to fog up from the disintegrating pills.  

 

“Don’t do this, Yuuri,” Viktor begged, starting to stand up. 

 

“Then you shouldn’t have made me do this,” Yuuri shot back, but Viktor could hear the way it sounded like he was crying.

 

Viktor crawled to the toilet to try to save some of his pills. Yuuri was still dumping them. Neither of them realized how much he had. As Yuuri went to open another bottle, Viktor dove for the bowl of pills mixed with unclean water.

 

Viktor grabbed some pills, but they weren’t  _ his _ anymore. They carried shame when they were supposed to make him feel good. 

 

Yuuri pushed Viktor away, seeing what he was doing. He pried his hands open to get the pills from Viktor. 

 

_ “I’m sorry,” _ Yuuri whispered as if he was the one that was hoarse from shouting and screaming.

 

_ “Please Yuuri, don't do this,”  _ Viktor screamed. His old self would have laughed or wept at the way he was screaming for the man he loved not to push down the handle.  _ “If you loved me at all, don't do this”  _

 

Yuuri pushed down the handle, anyway. He dumped the rest of the bottles down the drain. 

 

_ “Stop.”  _

 

_ “Don’t do this.”  _

 

_ “If you loved me at all, don't do this”  _

 

_ “Please.” _

 

_ “Don’t do this.” _

 

But Yuuri did it anyway, despite Viktor’s cries and screams and pleas. Yuuri wanted to sink to his knees and beg Viktor for forgiveness. But he didn’t. Instead, he left Viktor on the bathroom floor, clutching at the toilet, hoping that it would spit the pills back up.

 

* * *

 

Eight days since their argument on the pills, and Yuuri found pills again. He had made a big show of flushing them down the toilet when Viktor had tried to grab the bottles out of his hands, the pills out of the toilet before he flushed them. Viktor had screamed at him his pleas of  _ “if you loved me at all don't do this”  _ and  _ “please Yuuri don't do this”  _ with tears running down his cheek and starting to dry. 

 

Eight nights of enduring Viktor crying while throwing up in the toilet. Yuuri had tried to help but Viktor had pushed him off with a glare in his eye and sweat on his forehead. He had whispered hoarsely,  _ “you were the one who did this,”  _ and  _ “if you loved me at all, you wouldn't have done this to me,”  _ and  _ “you don't get to touch me after you've done this to me”  _ with such a venom in his eyes in between heaves. Yuuri tried every night to comfort him, but he usually pushed him out of the bathroom with his words. All because Yuuri had tried to cut out the thing that was killing Viktor. 

 

Eight mornings of waking up alone or with Viktor as far away as possible in their bed. There were mornings where Viktor was sound asleep on the couch when Yuuri got up. It was like an arrow to the heart to see that Viktor slept better alone. Breakfast was silent and their interaction was minimal. If Viktor looked at Yuuri at all, it was with a glare and eyes that showed a deep lack of sleep. Yuuri just wanted to hold Viktor again. 

 

Eight days of hell, and there were pills in their apartment again which would lead to a bigger hell. 

 

The pills were well hidden this time; Yuuri wouldn't have found them under the bed if he hadn't dropped his phone under there. Yuuri reached for his phone but latched around something round. At first, he thought perhaps it was a dog toy. Then he looked. There were eight orange bottles with pills inside.

 

He pulled the bottles out, as Viktor walked into the doorway. “Yuuri, have you seen my-” 

 

“What is this?” Yuuri interrupted, fast, the question spilling out of his mouth like a waterfall. 

 

“What is what?” Viktor questioned back, still cold towards Yuuri but confused. 

 

“This.” Yuuri shook a pill bottle a little. Cruelly.

 

“I-”

 

“Viktor, you have a problem and need help,” Yuuri tried to start this conversation rationally. He wanted Viktor to be healthy. 

 

“I can take care of this problem,” Viktor dismissed once again. 

 

“Please Viktor, let me take care of you for once. You helped me with my anxiety. I couldn’t have done that alone, so don’t do this alone,” Yuuri pleaded. “Who is going to help you?”

 

“I-”

 

“Who gets to help you Viktor? Because otherwise, you are going to die,” Yuuri whispered the last word as if he couldn’t bear the thought of his death, of being alone. There was anger and fear churning in his words, the start of a hurricane, a perfect storm. 

 

“I’m not going to die,” Viktor scoffed. Viktor didn’t want to think about that. The thought of leaving Yuuri hurt like hell. 

 

“You act like a god, thinking you are invincible, but you aren’t,” Yuuri snapped, amazed at how stupid Viktor was acting and how quick he had lost his temper. 

 

“I am not a god, Yuuri, I am a man. And men make mistakes,” Viktor snapped. He didn't want Yuuri to help. He would rather drown quickly in his own problems than allowing Yuuri to drown slowly with him. 

 

“The truth is, Viktor, that you are more of a god than you know,” Yuuri snapped back, not taking Viktor's shit this time. His words started building into a steady shout. “The world would bow down to you and worship you. You are gold to them, but you are so fucking untouchable that no one can reach you. I'm sorry for even trying to make you cut out your shit.”

 

“ _ Yuuri _ ,” Viktor warned, but Yuuri ignored it. They were far too good at ignoring each other for the past eight days. 

 

“You are so stubborn and set in your ways,” Yuuri continued shouting, the anger swallowing him whole. “You are selfish, and I was a fool to not see that before. I was a fool to see you as a hero. I saw you as a god, but I didn't realize that you were a man. A man that lies and breaks my heart every time he would rather die alone than be with me. I was a fool for falling for that man.  _ I was a fool for loving you, Viktor. _ ” 

 

The anger had dissipated, replaced instead by a desperate plea to get him to understand, to get him to change, to get him to love Yuuri or himself enough to change before he destroyed himself. 

 

“Viktor, I-”

 

“Why would you say something like that?” Viktor was on the verge of tears overflowing from his eyes that still held the shadows of staying up for eight nights in a row. “Why?”

 

“I don’t mean that-”

 

“Then why would you say it?” This was the most hurt Viktor had been in eight months. Your husband who you thought you were chaining down admits that he doesn’t want you. Viktor didn’t think he deserved Yuuri on a good day, but this was one of the worst days in his life. 

 

“I love you,” Yuuri backed up, trying to fix this. “I want you to get better. You're my husband-” Yuuri tried to coax, after his outburst. 

 

“No, I'm not your anything,” Viktor snapped. 

 

“What?” Yuuri asked, shocked and horrified at the prospect of being nothing to Viktor, even after insulting their relationship. 

 

“I'm not your anything,” Viktor repeated slowly as if he was stupid.  _ You deserve someone better to call yours.   _

 

“Where is this coming from?” Yuuri asked confused and horrified like he hadn’t just called himself a fool for loving Viktor.

 

“I made sacrifices for you that I thought were worth it, but I'm starting to think that I was wrong.” It was like a death sentence being read.  _ It wasn’t worth it for you... _

 

“Viktor, are you even happy here?” Yuuri asked angry and concerned that he was chaining him to something he didn't want. 

 

“Maybe if you thought you didn't own me, I would. Every part of my life you feel like you need to control. I'm not yours and you are not mine.”

 

“If you're so unhappy here, then leave,” Yuuri shouted, but there were tears running down his face.  _ Please stay, please darling. Let's work this out.  _

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

And Yuuri wanted to take back his words, but Viktor was already storming out into the cold. 


	2. Won't Find Love At The Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Viktor leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from 5am by Amber Run.

It had been five days since their last argument. Five days since Viktor slipped through their front door and out into the cold. It wasn’t as cold outside as the ice between their hearts. Viktor wasn’t even wearing a coat, but he didn’t notice. Like he didn’t notice the way their relationship was falling apart because of him.

 

Five days of wondering if Yuuri should call Viktor and beg him to come home. To beg him for his forgiveness, and his understanding, and his willingness to help if not himself then Yuuri. He didn’t know how many time he dialed his number. He didn’t know how many times he clicked his phone off instead of pressing the call button.

 

Five days and now Yuuri was sitting in one of Viktor’s oversized sweaters that still smelled like him, and eating his mother’s recipe for ramen out of the white and blue patterned bowl that he stole from Japan. The TV blared the tragedies of that day. Yuuri didn’t realize one of those tragedies would be his own.

 

“An unidentified body has been found in the Liberty Motel earlier today with no identification and a dead phone. He is 5’11’’ with silver hair and blue eyes. Age estimates place him at 30 years old. An autopsy revealed he died of a prescription drug overdose. There were no signs of foul play. If you know any information on this man, please contact the number below,” the news anchor listed the standard information given whenever an unidentified body was found.

 

The only difference this time was that is sounded too much like Viktor who hadn’t returned to their apartment in five days. Viktor who was taller than him. Viktor who had the prettiest shade of silver hair that he dyed once a month in their sink making a mess with dye imported from Russia. Viktor who had eyes that were that rare shade of the winter sky on a sunny day. Viktor who had celebrated his 30th birthday a month ago. The Viktor who was slowly killing himself with rainbow drugs that took away the pain, but caused so much pain to both of them.

 

Yuuri dropped the bowl of ramen, shattering it like his heart into so many sharp pieces. The pieces went everywhere a mix of white and blue porcelain. Yuuri grappled for his phone, and for the first time in five days, pressed call.

 

 _“Pick up, pick up, pick up,”_ Yuuri chanted in a fevered whisper. _“God, Viktor, please pick up.”_ But he didn't, and the phone went to voicemail far too soon.

 

“Hello, you have reached Russian skating legend Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov’s voicemail,” the voicemail said in Viktor's bright tone. It felt far too wrong. “I am not available right now, so leave a message after the beep. I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible.”

 

It then repeated the message in Russian. Then Japanese. Then French. And then finally that dreaded beep.

 

Yuuri tried again.

 

And again.

 

And again, until he chucked the phone at the wall.  “Goddammit, Viktor. You can't be dead, so answer your fucking phone,” he pleaded. He picked up his phone with its shattered screen and texted him.

 

But the text didn't deliver. And then he called the non-emergency line to see if in fact his husband, the great Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, was dead.

 

* * *

 

 

The last several hours had blurred by with Yuuri's only thoughts being on Viktor. He told the police officer that maybe that…that body was his husband who'd been missing for five days. Maybe that his husband was dead.

 

So now here Yuuri was, standing outside the morgue, waiting to see if that body found was Viktor.

 

“Are you positive you are ready to go in?” the medical examiner asked. She was an older woman with graying hair. It was a different shade than Viktor's. No one else had that shade. “It may be alarming for some people to see the dead.”

 

“I'm ready,” Yuuri admitted. He was not ready if Viktor was in there. He didn't think he would ever be ready. She entered the key code and pushed open the door.

 

“Come in.” Entering the room, Yuuri noticed the cold bite of the room, but it was not as unbearable as not knowing. The room was well yet, and almost completely metallic. She led him to a table with a white sheet over a body.

 

“Are you ready, sir?” _No. Yes. I don't know._ And instead of saying anything, he nodded, knowing that the sound would come out choked and half afraid. _Deep breaths._

 

The medical examiner pushed back the white sheet revealing the body. His throat closed up. For a moment, Yuuri almost collapsed thinking that that was his husband Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov. But the silver hair was wrong.

 

For a moment, Yuuri almost started crying. But the face shape was wrong. For a moment, he was so relieved that Viktor wasn't here. The medical examiner looked at him with her head cocked wanting to know if he had any answers.  “That's not my husband. I'm sorry for wasting your time.”

 

“No, thank you for helping us. I'll lead you out.”

 

Yuuri didn't think he'd ever felt this relieved. Until he realized that Viktor was still out there. That he wasn't answering his phone. That Viktor may never be coming back anyway. That he may be dead in another spot.  


* * *

 

 

Yuuri thought that the silence- the not knowing was going to kill him. For days, he had tried to learn where Viktor was: calling again and again but being sent straight to voicemail. For days, texting strings of _please come home_ and _baby I love you_. Perhaps he should try again. Yuuri pressed call for the hundredth time when there was a knock on the door. Yuuri opened the door with his phone to his ear. Perhaps this time, there would be something besides Viktor’s voicemail voice that seemed to haunt even his dreams now.

 

Opening the door, Yuuri’s response was a phone that fell out of his hand, and a soft _oh god_. There in all of his glory was Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov. Glory perhaps was too kind of a word for the skating legend whose heartbreakingly silver hair was a disheveled mess, yet still somehow managed to be charming. Still managed to be as charming as the man he fell for. His eyes were still the rare shade of the winter sky on a sunny day, even though they had shadows that were too dark, and too deep, and spoke too much of the past couple of months in their relationship. Even though he smelled like shit, there was still the underlying musk of the pine soap that he used.

 

There were 18 inches of distance between them, but that distance felt longer than the eight days they had spent apart. There was so much anger, and hopelessness, and a desperate quality to it all along with the underlying of love.

 

Viktor broke first.

 

 _“I’m sorry.”_ There was a slight sob and a holding back of tears. It broke something inside of Yuuri, too, and the eight days between them no longer mattered as long as they had even the slightest possibility of holding each other again.

 

And suddenly, they were clutching each other on their knees in the doorway of their apartment with tears running down both of their faces. And suddenly, those 18 inches were gone to no distance at all. And suddenly, those eight days didn’t matter anymore.

 

And suddenly, for the first time in eight days, they both felt like they were home.

 

 _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”_ Viktor chanted over and over again into Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri chanted the same thing into Viktor’s shoulder which had an odor coming from it, but neither of them cared. Neither of them cared for any fact besides the one that they were together again. _“Forgive me._ Please, darling, I’m so sorry. Those were some of the hardest days of my life.”

 

“I didn’t know where you were,” Yuuri confessed and for the first time in eight days let himself completely and utterly fall apart. Yuuri was safe now.

 

They both were safe now.

 

“I know, I know,” Viktor murmured. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

“I thought you were _dead_.” It was not an accusation, just part of letting it go.

 

“No-”

 

“I thought you were dead. They found a body that had silver hair and blue eyes. And I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to feel.” And those eight days of keeping it all in had broken out and it was half babbling. Yuuri just wanted the reassurance that Viktor was here now.

 

“Shh,” Viktor tried to soothe, pulling him tighter. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here now.”

 

“I thought it was you. I went to see if it was you. It wasn’t you. And then- then I was relieved that you were alive. But then- then I was scared of not knowing if you were dead or alive or where you were.” It was an ugly sob that echoed through his entire body.

 

“I’m here now, darling,” Viktor tried to keep his own sobs held back. He kissed where his neck met his shoulder. “I’m sorry- so sorry.”

 

“I was scared that you weren’t coming back. And that it would be- it would be- be my own fucking fault.”

 

“No- no, it was my fault,” Viktor said trying to take the blame that he was his.

 

“It’s my fault for fighting with you- for making you leave.”

 

“It’s my fault for this whole situation.”

 

“I-”

 

“I want to get well,” Viktor interrupted with his own confession.

 

“Really?” Yuuri asked with disbelief and so much hope and love. Yuuri pulled back to look at Viktor’s diamond blue eyes. They were actually looking at each other for the first time in eight days.

 

“I want to get sober. For me, and for you, and for both of us,” Viktor elaborated. “I want- no I will get well, Yuuri.” And Yuuri broke down for the fact that this was going to get better, and that was the first time in eight days that he’d heard his name spoken with so much love.

 

“Viktor, I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, Yuuri. And I’m going to get better.”

 

They stayed holding each other on the floor for a long time. Neither of them wanted to let go again.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor stared into the mirror. There was nothing good in the mirror. There was what he hoped were not lies to his husband about getting better. But definitely without a doubt, there was a twisted version of the great skating legend Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov.

 

A version whose bags under his eyes so deep you could drown in them. A version whose trademark blue eyes were glassy, about to break with tears that threatened to spill over.  A version whose hair had lost its shine somewhere in the eight months in which he had lost himself.

 

He used to be beautiful enough to be a model. Now- now he looked like the poster child of how drugs bury deep into your soul and do not let go no matter how much you struggle to push them off. Looked like someone who had lost a fight for his life and was accepting his own execution.

 

But not yet.

 

There was still time for the confession that could both save him and damn him. Save him from drowning in his desperation and his storm of self-destruction. Damn him to a hard life of temptation and fighting, knowing the fact that if he wanted to slip back into the ease he was living with these pills, it would kill him quickly like a knife straight to the heart.

 

But the itch to simply slip back to those rainbow pills would rise so high. An itch that threatened him now. An itch that he wanted to sate one final time before facing the final battle of getting sober. A battle Viktor didn’t know if he would win.

 

So he would live while he knew that he could. He would live knowing that he may die. He would satisfy that itch one final time. So Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov pulled out the pills that his husband hadn’t flushed away this time and tossed them back.

 

Pill after pill.

 

Pill after pill.

 

And for a moment he was finally floating instead of drowning. And for a moment he was happy. And for a moment his demons were satisfied.

 

But then he realized that he was falling. That he was trapped. That he had just sold his soul away, and there was no way to get it back.

 

Then he realized that he didn’t want this. Any of it. So he tried to fight to regain any semblance of self-control. His soul tried to bang itself out of a self-made prison that had lost the key. He tried to slow down the racing flutter of his heart which sadly was for a far less poetic reason than love. But perhaps Viktor loved his own destruction.

 

He was gasping for breath for a different reason than a gold winning performance. This was a different sort of performance. It was a performance of his self-destruction, and this would be the finale if he did not fight. He wanted to fight. He wanted to _live._

 

But instead, he bowed over the bathroom vanity, sending several bottles of pills and a bottle of soap to its grave on the floor. Perhaps this bathroom floor would too be his grave. A resting place for a skating king who froze himself in his foolishness. He had to fight.

 

Viktor realized that the bottle of soap shattered when he stepped on the shards that dug into his feet after feeling a sharp harsh pain deep within him. He knew that the bottle of soap should have drawn blood, but he didn’t feel it if it did. He hadn’t felt anything besides the haze of what he thought was heaven on Earth for about eight months.

 

Viktor tried calling out but his throat felt like ashes. Perhaps they were his own, even though he knew it was from the mixing of far too many pills that felt like daydreams but were nightmares. He still tried to cry out his pleas for help.

 

 _“Yuuri,”_ he would have cried out if he had his voice.

 

 _“Please,”_ he would have cried.

 

_“Help.”_

 

But even if Yuuri or anyone had come, this was a battle with himself. This was his battle alone. A battle that he was losing. Losing fast.

 

Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov tried to grab onto something, anything. Hating the fact that he grabbed onto an open bottle of the very thing that was killing him. Hating the fact that it was not his husband. The very same husband who he had broken his promise to.

 

Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov fell less of the way a god fell, but more the way that a villain fell. Alone. And happy that they died. Happy with the realization that their lovers could still be heroes.

 

Yet, Viktor still had so many regrets swirling in his head when he fell with a thud, thinking that this was it. This was the end of running from himself for thirty years.

 

His biggest regret was selfish. His biggest regret was that he couldn’t say goodbye to his husband who he was slowing choking alive when both of them wanted to hold onto each other.

 

Perhaps this would be the best way to say goodbye, not at all. Eight months had already driven their hearts to ice. Eight minutes on the floor holding each other and promising _I’m going to get better_ was not enough time to truly thaw out their hearts. Eight minutes was not enough to break through the eight days of silence where they wished each other dead.

 

So Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov slipped away into the world of admitting his sins without thinking that he would live to see his husband again save for his haunting memories.

 

* * *

 

 

Eight seconds. That was how long it took to get to the master bathroom from the kitchen. Eight seconds since Yuuri heard a thud that sounded too loud to be considered safe. Eight seconds since Yuuri went running to the master bathroom. Throwing open the door, he was not prepared for what was waiting for him.

 

Viktor was on the tiled floor of the bathroom, twisting his body into itself. Wearing a classic Viktor outfit of fitted jeans and a tee shirt, he was barefoot, yet there was blood on his feet. Yuuri didn’t know from what. His eyes fluttered open and closed, and he gasped for breath.

 

“No,” Viktor whimpered when Yuuri went to touch him. That’s when Yuuri noticed what Viktor was holding onto, an opened bottle of pills that he thought could take the pain away. Yuuri was hurt that Viktor would rather hold onto the thing that was tearing him apart piece by piece over his husband who wanted to build him back up piece by piece.

 

Then Yuuri noticed the rest of the floor. Rainbow pills of all shapes and sizes mixed on the floor spilling out of orange plastic bottles with lids missing. Orange plastic bottles that were all out of their home a couple of days ago. Yuuri didn’t want to think about how he got them back.

 

Suddenly, those eight seconds were not fast enough.

 

And in a different eight seconds, Yuuri was straddling Viktor, prying the bottle of pills from Viktor’s death grip on the bottle in his palm. He kicked the other bottles away. He didn’t want to see them right now.

 

If Yuuri had been thinking, he would have called Poison Control Center. If Yuuri had been thinking, he would have called 911. If Yuuri had been thinking, he would have held Viktor tighter when he had the chance. If only Yuuri had been thinking.

 

Instead, Yuuri pried open Viktor’s jaw to see if there were any pills still inside. Viktor tried to kick him but missed. There were four different pills inside that he miraculously had not choked on. He dug them out. Viktor squirmed under Yuuri to get away.

 

 _“Don’t touch me,”_ Viktor cried, half delirious. “You deserve to touch someone better!” Perhaps he was less than half delirious. This was worse. Viktor kicked and struggled. It was a new kick to Yuuri’s heart every time that he fought back. He was only trying to help. Trying to save Viktor from his own storm that was swallowing him whole.

 

Yuuri panicked and half-remembered what he was supposed to do in a drug overdose: wash it out of their system. Yuuri let go of Viktor and tripped over his own feet to turn on the lavish shower. Instead of fighting Yuuri, Viktor now fought the air. Fought whatever of his own demons attacked him. It looked like he was fighting for his life; perhaps he was. Yuuri just wished Viktor knew that he didn’t have to fight alone.

 

The showerhead sang to life, pelting icy cold water that reminded Yuuri that this was not his twisted worst nightmare; this was real life no matter how hard both of them wished it wasn’t.

 

Yuuri half dragged, half carried Viktor into the shower. Yuuri winced when Viktor’s legs hit the metal track that the glass shower door slid on. He was still fighting. Then he stopped. Stopped fighting. Stopped fluttering his eyelids.

 

And for eight seconds, Yuuri worried that Viktor was actually dead. Worried that his worst nightmare of losing him for good was coming true in his arms. And he would have given anything to have him fight him again because it meant that he would have been alive.

 

 _“Viktor please,”_ Yuuri begged, but he wasn’t sure for what. _“I’m sorry. Please.”_ They were both in the icy pelt of the water now, Yuuri holding Viktor, not caring that their clothes were both getting soaked. Viktor when telling this story of how he nearly died would probably make a comment about how it was the worst day of his life because his favorite jeans were ruined. He would not talk about how he ruined Yuuri’s heart.

 

Viktor finally snapped open his eyes: glassy and bloodshot. Yuuri let out a sob in relief. _We’re both going to be fine. We’re both going to be fine. We’re…_

 

 _“Yuuri,”_ Viktor whispered, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts that were failing to calm him down. His voice sounded like sandpaper instead of his usually smooth voice. It sounded like he had been screaming.

 

“I’m right here, Viktor darling,” Yuuri coaxed, pushing his wet mop of silver hair from his still glassy eyes. If Viktor had heard, he made no indication. He seemed half in this world half out of it.

 

 _“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I want to go home. Please, Yuuri I want to go home to you. It’s so cold out here. Why is it so cold? You were always so warm when we held each other,”_  Viktor babbled. Yuuri just wanted to know whatever half-crazed fantasy Viktor was in, so he could help him. Yuuri just wanted to help Viktor no matter the price. Any price was worth paying for his husband.

 

“I’m right here, Viktor darling, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. We’re together in the bathroom at our house. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you,” Yuuri tried to soothe Viktor, but it is hard to soothe someone who is fighting something that isn’t real. “You are safe with me.”

 

 _“Please,”_ Viktor begged. _“Please, Yuuri, I want to feel like I deserve your love again.”_ Yuuri bit back a large sob. He didn’t know what to say to that; he pulled him closer to him on the floor of the shower instead. Yuuri would give anything to see Viktor happy again.

 

“I-” Yuuri started, but what was he to say to a husband that didn’t think they deserved anybody’s, let alone his partner’s love? “I-” Yuuri tried again, but all the words seemed to fail him. He just went with something simple. “I love you, and I have never stopped loving you, and I never will. I love you so much, and you don’t need to earn my love.”

 

“This is all _my_ fault,” Viktor sobbed. He didn't stop when he pushed himself deeper into Yuuri's arms. Neither of them cared that they were drenched in icy water that sank deep into their bones. Viktor only cared about the fact that he was in Yuuri's arms. Yuuri only cared about the fact that Viktor was alive.

 

Viktor started slipping slowly back into reality with loud sobs and soft whimpers and curling more and more into Yuuri's arms. At one point he takes Yuuri's hand to pull himself closer. It takes more than the eight seconds it took to take to get to the bathroom, but they both are like fawns on new legs when it comes to each other now.

 

Viktor pulls away, and it hurts more than the eight days not knowing where he was or the eight seconds after hearing the thud. He seems too disgusted with himself to want to be held. They both wait in silence, the only sound their breathing and the rhythmic drops of the icy water. Yuuri reaches for Viktor first.

 

“It’s okay, Viktor, you can trust me.”

 

“That’s not the problem, Yuuri,” Viktor said with so little love for himself, yet so much love for Yuuri. “The problem is- the problem is I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

 

“Viktor-”

 

“Go ahead,” Viktor interrupted instead. “Go ahead and ask why I fell into this entire mess. Why don't you just ask?”

 

“I don't care about that, Viktor. What I care about is you.”

 

“Stop. I don't know how many times I've heard that and I don't want to hear it from your mouth, too.” There was so much self-loathing and heartbreak in his own words. They were words from a man who'd never really felt love before this.

 

“I'm not lying, I'm telling the truth,” Yuuri tried to assure. “I love you.”

 

“Why are you so forgiving? Why don't you push me on it like everyone else does?” It was not a question that was meant to be answered, but Yuuri did anyway.

 

“Because I love you. You don't want to talk about it, and I understand. It's up to you when we bring it up.”

 

“Can we bring it up now?” Viktor asked nervously.

 

“Of course, darling.”

 

“I just wanted to feel good for the last time in a while, before I went through the painful process of getting well and sober. I don't realize how painful even this was. I never want to put you through that again.”

 

Instead of giving a response, Yuuri pulled Viktor back into his arms, giving a feather kiss to the shell of his ear.

 

They waited eight more minutes before turning off the icy water, drying off, and heading to bed in each other's arms.

 

Eight seconds. Eight minutes. Eight days. Eight months. All of them allow for enough time for an entire world to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that happened. Whoops. If you liked this, please give me validation because I need it.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't do drugs kids. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [My other Yuuri!!! On Ice works.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/breatherofwords)


End file.
